Waking Up In South Korea
I was shaken awake this morning by a gigantic FLASH and BOOM at what seemed like next to my head. It was still dark out, and as I rolled over to see 3:30am on my clock, I felt immediately better when I saw I had atleast 4 more hours of quality sleep. I heaved my tired body back over on to a new, cooler pillow on the other side of my bed. 20 seconds later, FLASH BOOM. Then 5 seconds later, FLASH BOOM. Ok, I now have a thunder and lightning storm inside my bedroom. Fantastic.... I was up for good. No going back to sleep at this point. I wish my body worked differently, but once I'm really woken up, it's almost impossible for me to get back to sleep.
I sprawled myself out on our living room couch to try and catch the lightning in action through our back patio door. In between bright white lightning bolts and the deep rumblings of thunder that literally shook our walls, I listened and watched the ground level storm going on as well.
The quickly accumulating rain water flood pooling in one corner, the fat raindrops splattering into our warm pool, heavy water logged gauzey curtains sagging from their flimsy wire curtain rods, a miniature waterfall cascading off our stucco tile roof, our neighbor's huge tree with a newly storm snapped branch swaying in the wind, and the shrill sound of wind whistling past the unsealed cracks in our windows and doors.
As the wind calmed, and lightning and thunder moved on, the rain continued. The thick stream of water continued to plummet off our roof into our parched rock garden of a back yard. This sound brought back immediate memories of South Korea for me. I visited this beautiful country as a college graduation gift to myself in 2004. I went for a whole month, solo. It was one of the best things I've ever done.
One of my most poignant memories of Korea was about two weeks into my trip, and I was walking through a small rural village outside the larger town of Kunsan. There was row of about 10 small pagoda style huts with a winding dirt road connecting them into a small Korean style Main Street. I had met a local woman, and she had invited me to dinner at her home. I knew walking there was risky, not for safety reasons, but because I was there during the start of their monsoon season. Monsoons in Asia are a whole other animal. Rain comes in cascading torrents until the dirt roads are almost full with enough running water to classify them as temporary rivers. Despite the forecast of rain, I packed my umbrella and headed off to her home. As I reached her village, the downpour began. I whipped out my black umbrella, rolled up my jeans knee high and continued walking. Within the span of 1 1/2 minutes, incredibly my road was now a river. It was now dark, but I could easily see my way with the village's 2 flickering street lamps. As I passed each pagoda, a waterfall of water the width of my waist would pour down off each upturned point of the roof. The upturned end of these traditional Asian style homes resulted in a catapulting force as it shot the water towards the ground and me. I passed windows where small Korean women were cooking up the most delicious smelling dinners, yelling to family members to help out, small perfectly tended gardens in the front yards, old fashioned bicycles hidden from the rain on small porches...Everything was miniature, well kept and gave me the feeling that I had stepped back in time. My umbrella was useless at this point. The rain was coming down so hard that it was leaking right through the fabric. I stepped quickly under the protection of a nearby porch and just listened. It was absolutely devoid of any modern noise. No cars, no airplanes, no buses, no people talking. Just the enormous weight of the skies emptying out their buckets of torrential rain, splattering on the now free-flowing muddy roads. It was the closest I've ever come to experiencing true peace. I was utterly on the opposite side of the world, in the most remote of villages, huddled under a pagoda during a summer time monsoon, and I loved every second of it. Here are some photos that bring back such great memories.....
As I sit now, the rain is still rolling off my roof....and the memories continue....
bamboo forest
Seoul
My "trusty" umbrella
fresh vegetables?
One of my favorites. We were visiting the DMZ, and each child asked to shake his hand as we passed their field trip. They each said "thank you" in English.
I sprawled myself out on our living room couch to try and catch the lightning in action through our back patio door. In between bright white lightning bolts and the deep rumblings of thunder that literally shook our walls, I listened and watched the ground level storm going on as well.
The quickly accumulating rain water flood pooling in one corner, the fat raindrops splattering into our warm pool, heavy water logged gauzey curtains sagging from their flimsy wire curtain rods, a miniature waterfall cascading off our stucco tile roof, our neighbor's huge tree with a newly storm snapped branch swaying in the wind, and the shrill sound of wind whistling past the unsealed cracks in our windows and doors.
As the wind calmed, and lightning and thunder moved on, the rain continued. The thick stream of water continued to plummet off our roof into our parched rock garden of a back yard. This sound brought back immediate memories of South Korea for me. I visited this beautiful country as a college graduation gift to myself in 2004. I went for a whole month, solo. It was one of the best things I've ever done.
One of my most poignant memories of Korea was about two weeks into my trip, and I was walking through a small rural village outside the larger town of Kunsan. There was row of about 10 small pagoda style huts with a winding dirt road connecting them into a small Korean style Main Street. I had met a local woman, and she had invited me to dinner at her home. I knew walking there was risky, not for safety reasons, but because I was there during the start of their monsoon season. Monsoons in Asia are a whole other animal. Rain comes in cascading torrents until the dirt roads are almost full with enough running water to classify them as temporary rivers. Despite the forecast of rain, I packed my umbrella and headed off to her home. As I reached her village, the downpour began. I whipped out my black umbrella, rolled up my jeans knee high and continued walking. Within the span of 1 1/2 minutes, incredibly my road was now a river. It was now dark, but I could easily see my way with the village's 2 flickering street lamps. As I passed each pagoda, a waterfall of water the width of my waist would pour down off each upturned point of the roof. The upturned end of these traditional Asian style homes resulted in a catapulting force as it shot the water towards the ground and me. I passed windows where small Korean women were cooking up the most delicious smelling dinners, yelling to family members to help out, small perfectly tended gardens in the front yards, old fashioned bicycles hidden from the rain on small porches...Everything was miniature, well kept and gave me the feeling that I had stepped back in time. My umbrella was useless at this point. The rain was coming down so hard that it was leaking right through the fabric. I stepped quickly under the protection of a nearby porch and just listened. It was absolutely devoid of any modern noise. No cars, no airplanes, no buses, no people talking. Just the enormous weight of the skies emptying out their buckets of torrential rain, splattering on the now free-flowing muddy roads. It was the closest I've ever come to experiencing true peace. I was utterly on the opposite side of the world, in the most remote of villages, huddled under a pagoda during a summer time monsoon, and I loved every second of it. Here are some photos that bring back such great memories.....
As I sit now, the rain is still rolling off my roof....and the memories continue....
bamboo forest
Seoul
My "trusty" umbrella
fresh vegetables?
One of my favorites. We were visiting the DMZ, and each child asked to shake his hand as we passed their field trip. They each said "thank you" in English.
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